


The Spanish Main Via Barafundle Bay

by evilmaniclaugh



Series: The Art of Not Falling Apart [3]
Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For four years Miles has been learning to be a better man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spanish Main Via Barafundle Bay

Miles hangs up the phone and does a tick back against the calendar in his head. What has he missed? Birthdays, anniversaries, memorials: none of them fall at this time of year. He looks out at the small patch of scorched lawn in his front garden and can see heat rising off the surrounding tarmac. It certainly isn’t Christmas. Not unless they’ve experienced a sudden B movie shift of the polar axis.

He does occasionally see Bill on days that aren’t celebratory or commiseratory. They have pints in the pub and talk about the good old, bad old days when their friends group was still intact and all they did was squabble, but this is different. This is an invitation.

The following Saturday Miles arrives at Bill’s house in St Albans. He’s carrying the usual bottle of expensive wine, but has no one on his other arm. His ‘friends time’ is sacred. He hasn’t brought anyone with him since he ended things with Chloe four years ago. No outsider could possibly understand their history.

“Hey mate,” says Bill, taking the Barolo off him and dragging him through to the garden. “Have I got a surprise for you.”

For one awful moment Miles is reminded of that pre road-trip party at the Griffiths house and he expects to see James, corrupted by cancer, a forced smile on that ugly handsome face. The actual surprise turns out to be far more awkward, but very welcome. 

Sitting cross legged on the grass, surrounded by a sea of Lego blocks and clearly entertaining himself more than Bill’s herd of rugrats, is Davy.

The last time Miles saw Davy was that bloody awful night when he’d got drunk and tried to kiss him. They _had_ kissed briefly until Davy had stepped back and accosted him with another bitter sword thrust of truth. Miles had subsequently left with his tail between his legs and, not long after that, Davy had sold his life on Gumtree and gone on a voyage of self discovery.

Miles’ moment of self discovery is more impactful. He sits on grass next to Davy and connects together a series of red blocks. “What have you been doing?” he asks.

“Having adventures,” says Davy and he looks up and smiles. “I’m a pirate.”

“He is,” squeals Bill’s oldest. “He’s been telling us stories.” 

The children race off to play with plastic swords and Davy leans back on his elbows to scrutinise Miles thoroughly. “You look as if you could do with some piracy in your life.”

“You’re not a pirate, you twat,” say Miles, taking in Davy’s threadbare jeans, deck shoes and stripy t-shirt. “Well maybe a sad old hipster pirate.”

Davy flicks his shades a centimeter down his nose and stares at Miles for a long moment. “That’s me,” he smirks.

Miles mirrors his pose. “So, what have you actually been doing?”

“Travelling,” says Davy with a shrug. “Finding out what’s left and putting the pieces together.”

Miles bites back a sharp retort. Davy’s too soft. He’s a red rag to Miles’ inner bull and he hates being reminded of what a cruel man he can be. “You were together the last time I saw you,” he says in a low voice, choosing, for once, to be brave rather than bitchy.

Davy shakes his head. “I was successful,” he says. “Don’t ever confuse the two. They’re very different. Out of the four of us, only Bill has ever managed to do both.”

The one they had lectured incessantly. “Not James?” says Miles.

“Jim was more of a fuck up than you and me combined,” laughs Davy. “And that’s saying a lot.”

James Griffiths is no longer the elephant in the room, and with the benefit of this knowledge Miles relaxes. “Tell me what it’s like to be a hipster pirate,” he says. “I might write a book about you.”

“No thanks. I’d inevitably end up being the prat of a friend in my own story.” Davy covers his eyes with the aviators.

Miles thinks of unsung heroes and is glad when Bill turns up to the Lego circle with a six pack of beers and a broad grin on his face. 

“How are you doing, chaps?”

“Fine. I’m trying to persuade Miles to run away to sea with me,” says Davy as the three of them begin construction on a pretty impressive new town.

“Not too soon, I hope,” says Bill. “I like having you staying with us, Davy boy.”

“Free babysitting?” asks Miles.

“Of course,” replies Bill. “What other reason could there be?”

The barbecue lunch elongates into a pizza evening and segues into a Netflix night of old movies. They talk through the sad parts and when painful memories emerge they wash them away with laughter. It’s one of the best days Miles has had in years.

“I enjoyed your company,” he says as he’s about to get into his car and Davy’s seeing him off. “I’d like to meet up with you again before you leave.”

Davy gives him that frustrated look. “Why?”

“You know why,” says Miles. “Call me. My number hasn’t changed.” Nothing has changed except his circumstances.

\---

“Right, I’ve called you, you twonk,” says a petulant voice that puts an instant smile on Miles’ face. “Now what?”

Miles has been struggling over a plot heavy chapter of his new book. It’s not the story he wants to be telling. “Now you agree to have dinner with me tonight.”

“Is this a friends thing?”

“No, Davy, it’s not. I’m asking you out on a fucking date, so just say yes, for god’s sake.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I hate it when you do that. You know I do.”

Miles’ grin grows wider. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Well, I suppose, yes,” admits Davy grudgingly.

“And would you ever agree to it if I didn’t insist?”

“Probably not.” There’s a pause. “I’ll always be that whiny poof to you, won’t I?”

“Always,” says Miles and he cradles the phone in both hands. “I’ll pick you up at Bill’s. Eight okay?”

“Eight’s good,” says Davy and Miles can hear the laughter in his voice.

After hanging up, he takes an indefinite leave of absence on his new book and begins to write from the heart.

\---

“Be home by eleven, young Skywalker,” says Bill, handing Davy his keys which have been left forgotten on the hall table. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Miles shakes his head in amusement. “But Bill you don’t _do_ anything.”

“Exactly,” says Bill, clapping an arm around each of their shoulders. “No hurting each other. Fighting is banned.”

Miles has no intention of hurting Davy, but then he’s always been incredibly successful at doing so without meaning to cause pain.

“You’re quiet,” says Davy after they’ve been driving for fifteen silent minutes. 

“So are you.” Miles glances at him. “I have a bad habit of saying the wrong thing around you.”

“I think we’re both guilty of that,” says Davy and as he looks down at his lap, wringing his hands in frustration, he becomes that shy little boy, frightened to death on his first day of school. “Maybe we should-?”

Terrified that they’re talking each other out of this date, Miles interrupts him. “Have you seen Chloe and the Griffiths since you’ve been home?”

“Yeah, they’re okay.” Davy untwists his hands and lays them flat on his thighs.

He has nice fingers, thinks Miles, long and elegant.

“Chloe and Mike are getting remarried.” Davy glances sideways to see if his words have impact.

They don’t. “How it should have been all along,” says Miles as he pulls into the pub car park. “She crushed on me. I crushed on James. We made a bad connection.”

“The wrong parts,” says Davy as he unfastens his seat-belt and reaches for the door handle.

Miles bars him with an arm. “I’ve made mistakes,” he says earnestly. “Too many to mention. Things I’ve done, haven’t done, thought of doing and procrastinated.”

“I’m starving,” says Davy, climbing out of the Mercedes. “Come on,” he adds and when he leans in and looks at Miles his eyes are full of cautious hope.

The Grey Harp is one of those sacrosanct foodie hideaways with a secret Michelin starred chef and Miles has had to pull strings in order to wangle them a reservation at such short notice. Being an acclaimed author on the bestseller list has its uses.

“I’ll have a rump steak, medium rare, and chips,” says Davy, without glancing at the menu.

The look on the waitress' face is a picture. Her nose is in the air as she writes down his order, but Davy, as always, is without guile. 

“Make that two,” says Miles. “Oh and bring us some crisps and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.”

“She’s a bit snooty,” says Davy as he watches her stalk off. “Don’t leave her a tip.”

“I wasn’t going to,” says Miles. “Unless it's to remind her about service with a smile.” 

As they talk and eat, Miles reaches out to Davy in all ways, his fingers edging across the table to make contact with Davy’s hand. “I want you to know that I’ve been trying really hard to stop being a selfish arse.”

“Bill says you’ve been doing a good job.” Davy studies him over the top of his wine glass. “He says you’ve changed since breaking up with Chloe.”

“You were my catalyst,” says Miles. “I think perhaps you always have been.”

“No, that was Jim,” says Davy with a rueful smile. “I saw how much it hurt when you found out that he and I were-” He falters, not knowing the right thing to say.

“Were in love with each other?” says Miles. “Yes, it hurt. I wanted James to admire me, to want me.” He pushes the rest of his food to one side and lays his knife and fork across the plate. “But you.” He’s attacked by a sudden burst of anger. Or is it pain? No, it’s something much deeper. “I wanted to shake you until you stopped making me bloody _feel_.” He twists the stem of his glass, staring at Davy through the convex lens. “Even when we were young, you treated everything with so much care. It reminded me of what mattered when all I wanted to do was switch off from the world. I needed you in my life. I need you.”

Davy jabs him in the chest with a finger. “Are we having a moment?”

“We are.” Miles pokes him back. “Stop trying to fucking ruin it.” He clicks his fingers in order to annoy the waitress some more. “We could go back to my place and continue where we left off?”

“I’d like that,” says Davy. “Hurry up and pay the bill so I can kiss you.”

\---

They do a lot more than kiss. Miles has spent years thinking about what it would be like to sleep with another man, first James and then Davy. It’s different to how he imagined it would be. There’s a lot of feeling, kissing, touching, talking, laughing, coming. There’s a lot of two way love.

“I never knew you had curly hair,” he says as they lie face to face in bed, the touching less urgent now but just as important.

“Only when I can’t be bothered to have it cut,” says Davy. “Pirates have to have long hair.” He smiles wistfully. “Let yours grow and you’ll have proper ringlets.”

“I might do that,” says Miles. “Where are you going next?” he adds casually. As casually as he can manage.

“I dunno. The Spanish Main?” smirks Davy.

“I could come with you,” says Miles.

“Because you have nothing left here?” Davy still sounds cautious.

“Because I have _everything_ here,” says Miles, kissing Davy to show him the precise geographical coordinates of where his everything is located. “The Spanish Main, it is.”

“The Spanish Main via Barafundle Bay.” Davy weaves their fingers together. “I want Jim to know that we’re going to be okay.”

 

\---end


End file.
